


Who's Pinocchio?

by jisom3



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: FTM Draco, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I was also listening to Cancer by MCR the entire time, I'm Sorry, M/M, Oops, Slight Canon Divergence, anyway, draco's dad is a dick because draco doesn't have one, if you're reading this, may or may not have submitted this as a final paper too, on a loop, someone help me, until there's substantial canon divergence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 05:53:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13241841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jisom3/pseuds/jisom3
Summary: Draco is a sad little sin-namon roll and Harry's not transphobic





	Who's Pinocchio?

Draco cleared his throat as he waited nervously for the train. Chancing a glance up at his father, he hoped Lucius hadn’t noticed his attempts to dry his sweaty palms within the folds of his robes. His father sniffed in contempt of the throngs of people about them. Draco idly wondered how his father could contort his face in such a fashion. He’d tried to imitate the look of cold hatred on his own many times, practicing in front of his mirror to no avail. He had concluded ages ago that his father’s signature expression was inimitable. His mother finally approached, and with her came the realization that his father had addressed him while he was lost in thought. Having sensed his inattention, his father raised his eyebrow at having to repeat himself.  
“Druella, remember that Malfoys are always sorted into Slytherin, we have since the beginning. I trust you will make me proud,” he imparted airily. Draco cringed at the use of his birth name, but it couldn’t be helped. His father was none too happy to find that Draco was a boy, and refused to have any part in affirming his identity. He gave a stiff nod in place of a verbal answer and turned instead to his mother. She didn’t seem the type to show much emotion, however, he knew her well enough to see the pride in her eyes. It warmed him enough to dispel some of the discomfort brought on by his father’s words. He knew she would be proud of him even if he were a Hufflepuff, although there was no chance of him ever being anything but a Slytherin. He was too much like his father for that. Still, a thread of doubt had wormed itself into his confidence. Shaking it off, he prepared to step through the wall and onto the train platform that laid behind, invisible to the eyes of muggles.  
After seeing that his trunk had been loaded safely onto the train, he bid his parents goodbye and stepped onto the train. Draco glanced around, making sure no one had seen him as he rushed into the bathroom and locked the door. As he looked in the mirror, he studied the blonde waves cascading down past his shoulders. His father had forbidden him from cutting his hair, but he was on his own now. Besides, he’s eleven now. That’s old enough to make his own decisions… right?  
Druella.  
The name rang sharply through his mind, causing him to recoil from his reflection. That’s not his name. It felt like a stranger. It could just as easily have belonged to the daughter of some other pureblooded family he’d never met; belonged to someone he’d be expected to marry if given an existence where his outside matched his inside. He had decided. Draco was going to cut his hair. He pulled out the pair of shears he had been hiding in his robes, debating the best way to go about it. After spending a ridiculously long amount of time fidgeting with the scissors, he finally picked up the first lock of hair and cut it off just above his eyebrow. Making quick work of the rest of his hair, he studied the results. Shaggy, uneven, but short. Gloriously short, it seemed as if the weight of hair freed more than just his scalp but his soul as well. Draco ran his hands through his new mop of hair, reveling in the softness.  
However… it simply would not do for him to wander about such a prestigious school with such a horrid haircut. He was there to make his father proud after all, and he wasn’t making a very good start with this immediate act of rebellion. Remembering the pot of hair gel he had bought for himself in preparation, he dug it out of his robes. These robes were remarkably handy he thought, coming with a multitude of pockets but also baggy enough that he wasn’t self-conscious about his chest. Slicking his hair back with the gel, he reexamined his reflection. The train whistle blew, and with it came an aggressive knock at the door. Vanishing away his mess, he opened it to reveal a thunderous looking Crabbe, also appearing as if he were about to wet himself. Draco danced out of the way, forcing a sneer as the boy shoved past him and slammed the door. It was all well and good the idiot didn’t stop to talk, Draco didn’t know how he would explain his haircut. What if Crabbe tells his father? That would be the end of Draco Malfoy, he was as sure of it as if his father were standing right in front of him.  
He sat in an empty train carriage with the hopes that he’d be left alone for the ride to Hogwarts. However, his prayers went unanswered with the appearance of Crabbe’s other half, Goyle. Draco had known Crabbe and Goyle since he was barely able to walk, and their parents had been friends longer than that. Draco stiffened with apprehension, that meant they knew him. How is he supposed to tell them who he really is? He thought the muggle term for this situation is something like “coming out,” whatever that’s supposed to mean. Nevertheless, if he didn’t want to spend his duration at Hogwarts being called that horrible, filthy name, he’d have to tell them.  
As Crabbe slid into the other seat opposite Draco, he took stock of his options. Hold his tongue and try to find a reason to be called by his last name, or tell his miserable excuses for friends and be faced with the possibility of more ridicule and humiliation? He hates these circumstances; they were wrecking his confidence and leaving him an anxious mess. Finally making his decision, Draco cleared his throat.  
“Crabbe, Goyle, I have to tell you something,” He shifted in his seat as he became the center of attention. He needn’t have worried, the two of them were dense enough that he had to explain himself three separate times until he was finally met with an exclamation of triumph from the taller of the pair.  
“So you’re a boy and all along we thought you were a girl! I get it,” Goyle blurted, obviously pleased with his conclusion. “So what’s your real name?” he frowned, obviously confused.  
“Draco. My name is Draco.”

Hours later, long past dark, the train finally arrived at Hogwarts. Draco was sure that if he’d had to spend five more minutes with those two idiots he’d have hexed their heads out the window. He shook off his irritation with a sigh. Following the crowd behind an unsavory looking man with ridiculous hair (really, how did he manage to even look at himself in the mirror, let alone show his face in public), he stepped into a boat and stared into the water as it started to glide across a huge black lake. After he entered the doors and stepped inside, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Disappointingly, it was Crabbe and Goyle. The two had managed to catch up to him and looked like they were completely unaware of his dislike and as such had no intention of leaving him be. He rolled his eyes and turned back around just in time to hear a rigid looking woman welcome them to Hogwarts. As he was facing her, he sees something familiar out of the corner of his eye. The flash of a famous scar, framed by glass covered green eyes underneath unruly hair. As he did a double take, he knew. It was true. He was in the presence of the boy who lived. His father should definitely hear about this.


End file.
